Frau Newkirk
by Fear-Of-The-Cold
Summary: Newkirk spends a lot of time dressed as a woman, and he complains about it. A lot. But what if he secretly liked it?


_Note: Sorry for any OOCness, because I know its unlikely, but I thought the idea would be fun to write. Partial songfic, song is King for a Day by Green Day, the lyrics are italicized. The song is what inspired the story, so I figured it should be included. Please read and review!_

"Looks like it's time to get your little old lady out again Newkirk."

Hogan briefed the men on their latest mission. Someone needed to set the timer on the explosives on the bridge and get back without getting caught. In broad daylight. Who else could they call on but their friendly neighbourhood Frau Newkirkberger?

The three other men laughed, but the Englishman in question groaned. His friends felt bad for him, but could not help themselves in giving him a good natured teasing. So often it happened that they fell victim to Newkirk's wit that they felt it only fair to take whatever advantage they could. Besides, it was hilarious to watch the cocky corporal squirm in his skirts!

"Why don't you head downstairs and change Newkirk?" Hogan struggled to keep his face straight as he spoke.

"Yes, why don't you?" LeBeau didn't bother to disguise his wide grin, "We will stay up here, we know how modest you elderly women are!"

Newkirk gave his French friend a sour look before he yanked the trapdoor open and jumped down into the tunnel. The scowl never left his face as he pulled the lever to let the bunk back down. As he walked into the costume room however, a small smile played across his face. Reaching into their improvised closet, he pulled out a flowery, flowing dress. With a tailor's touch, he ran the delicate fabric through his fingers.

Peter Newkirk had a secret.

_Started at the age of four_

He remembered when it first started, over twenty years ago now. It was probably due to his constant exposure to the world of females. Living with his mother and sister, there wasn`t a lot of male presence during his early years.

_My mother went to the grocery store_

How many times had he seen his mother dancing in a flirty, flouncing dress with a thin feather boa tied around her waist? She had gone out to the market with Mavis, they would be gone for hours. What could it hurt?

_Went sneaking through her bedroom door to find something in a size 4_

Silk had been entirely new to him before that moment. Not only that, but the shine of the gold glittering around his neck entranced him. Slipping his small child's feet into the six inch heels, he tottered down the hall, receiving bruises whenever he couldn't regain his balance in time. When he heard the key in the door, he would run to hide the feathers that had flown loose as he danced around the house.

_Sugar and spice and everything nice_

Of course, as he grew older he realized that his childhood pastime was not exactly approved of by the general population. Perhaps his mother would have understood, surely she would understand the strange lure of femininity? After all, he had thought, it was partially her fault; she hadn't brought him up like the other boys. They hadn't spent the first ten years of their lives haunting the dressing rooms of dancing clubs. He learned to appreciate women, but he only saw the extravagance, the flamboyance, and he focussed on that. No, not a normal childhood at all.

_Wasn't made for only girls_

He never told a soul about his peculiar fancies, but he still had a faint, lingering hope that somehow he could pursue them. That is, until his mother died. After that, he threw himself into what was considered a "normal" life. Making his living on the streets as best he could, he stole, he hung around pubs, and he fooled around with girls, and generally became the stereotypical East Ender. He pushed his own desires down until they were nothing more than his deepest, darkest secret.

_GI Joe in panty hose_

When he was drafted, he never suspected that this would change anything. The Royal Air Force was the last place to show any feminine tendencies. He pushed through life the same as he had for years, never showing the truth. But when he got to Stalag 13, things changed.

_Making room for the one and only_

_King for a day, princess by dawn _

On the very first night that Hogan told him to put on women's clothing, he had refused. Adamantly. He had no idea what it would do to him, and so he used his personal fears to pretend that he was offended by the suggestion. Killing two birds with one stone, they called it. He would dodge having to wear the clothes, and reaffirm his masculinity in his friends' eyes. Hogan, however, had different ideas, and Newkirk had found himself dressed to the nines in a skirt and heels. Hogan and LeBeau had been eager to get it over with, but Newkirk found himself enjoying the freedom he had denied himself for so long. And he managed to hide it from the others.

_King for a day in a leather thong_

After that, Newkirk was the go-to man any time they needed a "special" disguise. Of course, he continued to pretend disgust and embarrassment, but he secretly longed for these missions. When he smacked Schultz with his handbag, or fended off a guard that got to fresh, he felt more like himself than he had in years.

_Just wait 'til all the guys get a load of me_

Even though he adored these missions, and aided bringing them around whenever possible, he harboured a constant fear. What would happen if, for just a moment, he let his guard down, and one of the others noticed that he was not as opposed to women's clothing as they had thought? He could hardly bear thinking of it. They would shun him for sure, who wouldn't?

He had to keep this secret, if it was the last thing he ever did. The friends he had met here in Stalag 13 were unlike any others he had ever had, he would not risk losing them.

Quickly stripping down his uniform, he pulled the dress over his head. Next the stockings, and the garter. He moved over to the selection of jewellery, and pulled out a string of pearls. Why not, he thought to himself. After all, it wouldn't hurt to have a well accessorized disguise. And of course, he couldn't go without heels. Then a simple blonde wig to finish it off.

Now completely decked out in his finery, Newkirk paused to admire his reflection in a full-length mirror.

"Aren't you a darlin'," he smiled appreciatively, "If I didn't know better, I'd ask you to be my date on this little venture."

Watching the way his skirts moved in the mirror, he twirled around on his toes. The dress truly was gorgeous, his finest work in fact. But how would it hold up if he put it through its paces? Placing his arms as if to hold an imaginary partner, Newkirk moved through the steps of his mother's favourite dance. None of the others knew he could dance, but with good reason: he only knew the girl's steps.

Closing his eyes, he swayed to the music playing in his head. He had never danced with a real partner-for obvious reasons- but now it was as if he could feel a strong hand in his, with his other hand resting on the man's shoulder. What the-

Newkirk's eyes flew open, and he found himself face to face with Kinch. The other man was toe to toe with him, moving through the steps in perfect time. After a moment of shock, Newkirk dropped Kinch's hand and shoulder as if burned. He backed away rapidly until he was up against the tunnel wall. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't think, he couldn't even process what had just happened.

Kinch, at least, had the grace to look a little embarrassed, but mostly he just grinned.

"Sorry old buddy," his voice mostly teasing, but with an air of sincerity, "I've just always thought it was easier to dance with a partner."

Sucking in a shallow breath, Newkirk regained his bearing a little.

"Not-" he swallowed as he tried to rid himself of the dryness in his mouth, "Not a word. To anyone. Ever."

Kinch's smile became less teasing immediately, and he simply looked at Newkirk for a moment. Then his smile returned, this time with friendly warmth. Walking over to where Newkirk had basically ran to, Kinch placed a comforting hand on the other man's shaking shoulder.

"Peter," he said seriously, but warmly, "Did you think we didn't know? That we wouldn't notice that every time you had to go put on a dress, your face and mouth would scream no, but your eyes would light up?"

"You-you knew?" Newkirk said stunned and incredulous, "How long?"

"Since the very first time," Kinch admitted, "We could see you were trying to hide it, but we knew you to well."

"And you don't care?" the Englishman couldn't believe it.

"Of course not," Kinch wrapped the other man in a bear hug, before placing both hands on his shoulders and looking Newkirk straight in the eye, "We're your friends, Peter. Your "mates". No matter what."

Newkirk was stunned. He had never, never found anyone who would accept him as he really was. It wasn't until he found himself locked up in a prison camp in the middle of Germany that he found the best mates he would ever have.

"Thanks Kinch. You don't know what that means to me."

"Yeah, yeah, don't go all sentimental on me," the American joked, "Now get out of here. Frau Newkirkberger has some guards to charm and a bridge to destroy."

Grinning, Newkirk headed into the room that housed the entrance to the emergency tunnel. Just before he headed up the ladder, out of sight, he turned back.

"Hey Kinch!"

"Yeah?"

"Sure you don't want a good-bye kiss?"

The sergeant's eyes widened for a moment, then Newkirk winked at him and disappeared.


End file.
